


Two Left Feet

by The Prince (doctorlupin)



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Original Character(s), Short & Sweet, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28352862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorlupin/pseuds/The%20Prince
Summary: When you have two literal left feet, it can seem like there's no one in the world who understands you. That's the way Mile feels, until one dance festival changes his whole world.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short story I wrote after my friend gave me a prompt for it! She came up with the idea of someone with two literal left feet finding his match, and I wrote it up for her! I hope you enjoy!

Being a shoemaker's son had its perks. You could learn a lot about someone just by the condition their shoes were in. The fancy, expensive materials used to make a shoe usually indicated a rich wearer, while a worn out sole meant the shoes were well loved and used every day. 

Another thing you could learn by being a shoemaker's son was what the specialty shoes looked like. And by the looks of the pair in Mile's hands, the wearer had two right feet. It wasn't hard to tell; the concave side of the sole was the same on both sides, rather than the mirror image normal shoes were. 

The pair of leather shoes had been found on the shoemaker's doorstep that morning, the owner probably having outgrown them. Mile had been staring at the shoes for a good twenty minutes, wondering just who they belonged to. The news that someone in town had an abnormality like this was, well, very uplifting.

As Mile slowly came back from his thoughts, his pessimism started growing. "It could be," he said to himself, "that this person only had two right shoes to get rid of, and they somehow ended up as a pair." The shoes were the exact same material and style, though, so his negative theory wasn't very plausible.

Mile shook his head, erasing all thoughts in order to focus on his task at hand. He needed to clean and polish the shoes, erasing any scuff marks and repairing any of the minor damage. They couldn't be sold like this of course–his father would have to make a matching left shoe for each of the two rights.

Mile was hard at work when he heard a banging from outside, like the sound of a hammer on metal. He jumped up in excitement and ran out the front door. He turned and saw a crew of workers down the street, hanging banners and setting up tables. They were getting ready for tonight's festival, for which the village was famous. 

They were known as the best dancers in the region, and people would always come by to watch, sometimes participating themselves. 

There was also food served there, which was one of only two reasons Mile attended. The other was watching the people dance. He was cursed from birth to never have the ability to dance, tripping over his feet or anyone in his vicinity. The same abnormality that had affected the mystery shoe donor had taken over Mile's life as well, getting him bullied and bruised all his childhood.

But still, Mile was always excited for the festivals. He enjoyed being part of so many people having a good time, and the food never disappointed. There was another reason he wanted to attend this festival, something he didn't quite want to admit to himself yet. The person who had left the shoes could be at the festival. It was a long shot, and Mile didn't want to get his hopes up, but his greatest wish was to meet someone like himself. Even just to know he wasn't the only one in the world like this. After 17 years, it would be a welcome change.


	2. 2

Mile watched the workers until he knew he couldn't put his work off any longer. He went back inside to the workbench and finished cleaning the shoes. He put them on his father's table, lined up next to all the other works in progress. In the mornings he was his father's apprentice, cleaning and repairing shoes, while occasionally learning more about the craft from his father when the shop was empty.

It was agony having to sit still for so long, trying to focus on something that he didn't even care about in that moment. Finally his father let him go for lunch, and Mile ran upstairs. His mother handed him a steaming bowl of beef stew, reheated from last night's supper. He bounced in his seat as he ate, excited about the festival. A disapproving look from his mother made him sit still and finish eating. He cleared the lunch dishes and started washing them as part of his afternoon chores.

Several hours and a few reprimands from his parents later, Mile was standing in front of the small mirror in his room, wearing his fanciest clothes. He tugged a comb through his messy hair, trying to make it lay flat. There was no point though; it always got messed up again, usually from his anxious hands running through it.

Finally, he felt like he was ready. The entire time he'd been getting ready, he'd gone through about a thousand scenarios in his head. He wasn't even positive the mystery person would be there, but he had a fleeting hope that fate would help him out with this one.

With permission from his parents, he left the shop and headed to the town center early. He kept his pace as slow as he could as he approached the tables. There were already a good number of people there, despite how early in the evening it was. Mile found an empty chair next to a table and sat down, crossing his legs in front of him. There were actually quite a few empty chairs, with nearly everyone chatting around the food tables. 

Mile scanned the crowd of people, as if his mystery person would just appear, but there was no such luck. He kept his eyes on everyone's shoes, hoping to catch even just a glimpse of a special pair of shoes. When he could spare a moment from watching people's feet, he would glance up at the large clock tower a few blocks away. It was nearly time to start, and the musicians had begun tuning up their instruments.

He talked to a few regular customers who paused beside his chair, all the while keeping an eye out for a new face somewhere in the crowd. He was so distracted, that when the music started up, he jumped, heart racing. He laughed quietly at himself, a little embarrassed to be so skittish. Mile decided then and there to give up this stupid daydream of finding the mystery person, and got up to get some pastries. 

It took him a little while to get back to his chair. First he'd had to wait in line to get to the tiny desserts, and then his mother had pulled him into a conversation with her friends. It was a relief to get back to his chair. Having so many people to walk around always made him nervous. He'd had a lot of practice in his life, but one slip-up could mean injuries and lasting embarrassment.


	3. 3

Mile was starting on the second pastry from his dish when he felt eyes on him. He took a quick glance around, confirming that no one in the vicinity was looking at him. He returned his dish to his lap and turned in his seat to find his mother. He often found her watchful eyes on him when they were out in public, always worried something would happen to him.

But when he found her in the crowd, she was locked in a loud conversation, smiling, laughing, and definitely not looking at him. Mile furrowed his brow. He still felt like he was being watched, and he took another glance at everyone around him. He tried not to let the overpowering paranoia get to him, but it was really starting to freak him out.

He was wondering if he'd gone crazy when he finally spotted the source of his discomfort. Seated on the other side of the festivities was a boy around his own age, staring at him with wide blue eyes. Mile quickly averted his gaze, not wanting to embarrass the boy by catching him staring. 

Mile waited a few moments and looked up again, his eyes instantly locking on the stranger's. He felt his heart beating in his throat, panic flooding his veins. He couldn't figure out why this boy was staring at him, but he found it hard to remove his own gaze.

After what seemed like ages, the boy flicked his gaze away, towards the clock tower. Mile breathed out a sigh and looked at the ground, somewhat glad to be free of the tension-filled staring contest. Something on the ground caught his attention though, and he was stuck staring a the spot, trying to figure out what it was.

Then it hit him. The boy's shoes. The concave inner sole was on the same side on both shoes. Mile gasped and sat up straight. This was the mystery donor. This was his fateful meeting. He sat frozen, unsure what to do. Sure, he'd thought about it all day, but actually being in the moment threw all his preparation out the window.

Mile closed his eyes, thinking hard about what to do. He could go up and talk to the boy, maybe ask him what his deal was, but no, that'd probably scare him off. Maybe he could go sit next to the boy and make a joke about shoes? He had plenty of those; it was almost his specialty.   
A sudden presence next to Mile made him open his eyes. He jumped sideways in his chair, barely stopping a shriek in his throat. The boy stood beside him, looking almost like a ghost. His fair skin and light hair made him look like he was on fire in the dying sunlight.

"Hi.." Mile said hesitantly. The way the stranger had been staring, and now his sudden appearance was odd, and Mile wasn't sure what to make of it.

"My name is Pierre." The boy said. A lock of his blond hair had fallen into his eyes and he brushed it behind his ear. "This might be a little forward of me," he paused and Mile raised an eyebrow, "but would you mind joining me for a walk?"

The boy's accent was foreign to Mile's ears, proving he wasn't from their village. Mile looked around at the other guests, wondering if anyone else was witnessing this. He was sure he was hallucinating; Pierre definitely seemed ethereal enough.

"I'm Mile. And it's not forward. It's just really creepy." He looked back up at the boy in front of him, who had yet to look sheepish and say 'never mind' as Mile would've done. His confidence was weirdly charming to Mile, and, before he knew it, he was setting his plate aside and standing up. Pierre gave a soft smile. Oddly, that was what caused Mile's heart to race.

Pierre weaved through the crowd, avoiding dancers and tables. He was quick on his feet and never hesitated. Mile felt creeping jealousy as he followed Pierre away from the festivities and into town. He assumed they had the same abnormality, but within just a few minutes of meeting each other, Mile could tell he was the one worse for wear. Pierre didn't speak as they walked, and Mile was too busy overthinking to find anything to say. Their only communication was Pierre's subtle nods indicating which direction they needed to go. 

It took a few minutes for Mile to figure out that Pierre had a destination in mind: the clock tower. He walked a little faster to catch up to Pierre and be heard over the still blaring festival music.

"I thought we were just going on a walk," He inquired, gesturing to the tall building ahead of them. Pierre only shook his head and kept walking. He reached a wooden door on the side of the tower, one Mile would've missed completely had he not been paying attention. Pierre opened the door and ducked inside, not bothering to see if Mile would follow. 

So, of course, Mile followed. It was stupid, reckless, and would probably get him seriously injured, if not killed, but there was just something about Pierre. He wanted to find out what that something was. Mile caught the door just before it closed completely, and stepped inside.

The inside of the building was pitch black, and Mile hesitated a minute to let his eyes adjust. He was in a small room, with nothing much in it except a spiral staircase against the wall. Mile heard Pierre's shoes pounding on the wood a few feet up, and rushed up the first few steps. He didn't want to be left alone in this place.


	4. 4

Climbing. That was all Mile knew after the first thirty stairs. By fifty his legs were sore, and he was considering stopping to sit down. But Pierre didn't rest, or even acknowledge the questions Mile had called up to him, so Mile soldiered on. He had no idea how many steps he'd climbed, especially after he'd lost count around sixty. He was finally at the top, though, bent over at the waist with his hands on his knees. Mile hadn't realized how absolutely out of shape he was until he'd stopped climbing and could barely breathe.

It took a few minutes to get his breath back and for the stitch in his side to ease, but once he could stand up straight, he looked around for Pierre. It wasn't hard to find him, as it was brighter up here. The last of the sun's rays was shining through a small open window and reflecting off the inner clock workings.

A beam of it had fallen across Pierre's face, as the boy looked out the window, revealing the light freckles splashed over his nose, and making his eyes nearly see-through. Mile paused, the breath escaping his lungs once again. Pierre turned to look at Mile, and he furrowed his eyebrows as he caught Mile's expression.

"What?" Pierre asked sharply, defensively.

Mile stumbled forward until he stood about a foot away from Pierre. He took a couple deep breaths until he had recovered. "It's..you. You're stunning," He managed to say in a soft voice. He had no idea where the words had come from, but the more he thought about them, the truer they seemed. 

Pierre shook his head and turned away, but not before Mile saw the soft blush spreading over his cheeks. Pierre leaned back into the windowsill, hiding his face. Mile took this opportunity to look around the small room they were in. The gears powering the clock took up all four walls, and in one corner there was a mess of patchwork blankets. A couple knapsacks sat beside the pile, one overflowing with clothes and the other empty.

Mile turned back to Pierre, wanting to question his discovery, but he stopped short. Pierre was facing him with his hand outstretched, palm up. Mile was taken aback, until he heard the soft music floating in through the open window. The tune was slow, just perfect for a couple's dance.

"Will you dance with me?" Pierre asked softly, watching Mile's face carefully.

"I can't dance," Mile replied, starting to draw away.

Pierre took a step forward, closing the gap between them. He reached for Mile's hand and placed it on his own shoulder. Mile was about to protest again, but Pierre rested his hand on Mile's waist and tugged him closer. Pierre duplicated the hand positions on Mile's other side, and now they were just a few inches apart.

"Neither can I," Pierre whispered before leading them into a simple dance. It wasn't much, just moving their feet in a box formation. It would've been the easiest thing for other people, but for Mile, he was expecting to trip over his own feet any second. But their dance was nearly perfect. It was the first time in his life he'd ever danced without embarrassing himself or the people around him, and one look at Pierre's shocked expression told him the experience was mutual.

Feeling confident and giddy, Mile moved closer, wrapping his arms around Pierre's neck and gazing into his caramel colored eyes. They were so close now that Mile could count Pierre's freckles without the sun's help. The soft music transitioned into a different, more upbeat song, but the matching pair didn't falter or let go of each other as they continued their own little dance.


End file.
